The Novus Templari
by Ogham Bittersweet
Summary: Left 4 Dead Fanfic - An underground remnant of Templar had been preparing for the apocalypse. It has been their job to protect travelers on the road to salvation for hundreds of years. Their teams provide the safe houses and spplies.
1. Chapter 1

Normally I'm confident enough to talk openly about feelings. I'm usually okay with the expression of emotions… but this whole zombie apocalypse thing would have me inventing new words, and new levels of profanity that didn't exist previously. Quite frankly, I don't have the time to talk about how I feel any more.

At this current moment, I'm hunkered down in a safe room with 3 other members of my expedition team. We were forced to expand our foraging area to support the growing number of survivors that have made it to the ZFZ (Zombie Free Zone).

Cowboy, Lunchbox, and Monster were fortifying any areas that might be weak to attack after Cowboy noticed that the one exterior wall of the building we were sheltering in was mostly just 2x4's and plaster and would never hold back any sizable onslaught, let alone just a single one of those giant hulking mutants that have affectionately been dubbed "Tanks" by the survivor populace. After shoving cabinets, shelving, and mattresses against that wall to hopefully increase its strength and add a little bulk to the all important, sound muffling, thickness of the wall in general.

Once Cowboy seemed satisfied with the structural resilience of the safe room, we all relaxed a bit and sat down to reload and check out supplies. We had been restocking safe rooms for months now. Spare weapons, ammo, simple medical kits and the occasional Molotovs or modified pipe bombs. We rigged the pipe bombs with a flashing LED and a small speaker that would emit a number of loud 'beeps' that infuriated most zombies and would bring them swarming in, kicking and stomping the bomb… before it exploded, splattering zombie applesauce a 30 feet in every direction. My crew had nicknamed these little joys "Zombie Candy" because of how the common infected would chase after them… even off of tall buildings, through windows, and into raging infernos. You need to see the humor in things or you will go crazy.

I reloaded my AK-47 and double checked the fuel and cutting-chain on the chainsaw I had become famous for. "Bessie" I named her. This saw had saved my ass more times than I cared to remember. I had the strength and size to wield it like a berserking lumberjack, so it just kind of made sense to keep her around. The rest of my team had their respective quirks insofar as weapon choices too. You don't survive through an undead Hell-on Earth without developing a few personal issues about the weapons you use to stay alive. Lunchbox was never far from his street-sweeper, pistol grip, full-auto shotgun; and Cowboy would give up a good woman before he would give up his magnum. Monster was simple like me. His Fire-axe "Susanne" had been with him since the beginning. On nights like this where we were forced to camp out in a safe room, Monster would sleep with "Susanne" next to him on the mattress, with his arm lovingly draped over it as though he was keeping it warm. Cowboy and Lunchbox had a running bet about how long it would be before Monster started Kissing Susanne goodnight.

Once the final checklist was settled and the supplies stored away, we chatted for a few minutes about the grocery chain shipping warehouse we were heading for. Reports were consistent that the facility was still in good shape and showed no signs of being ransacked. Unfortunately this could mean its crawling with employees-turned-zombies…

The morning came like every morning. The soft, first rays of warm sunlight fill the room and we open our eyes to see the ballet of tiny dust motes dancing in the beam of light coming from the single small window in the heave safe room door we installed yesterday. We designed and built these doors to withstand the full onslaught of a thousand hammering undead fists. Even one of the hulking "Tank" mutations would do little more than rattle the hinges once the door is properly sealed. Our doors have protected travelling survivors for over a year and it still strikes me as odd that nobody ever stops to wonder who keeps putting them in and why they are always the same. Nobody stops to think about WHY there is always food and ammo in these safe rooms. I guess that with everything else on their minds, who gives a damn about the details.

The morning shuffle is always the same. We take turns on the toilette (or the bucket, if we were not lucky enough to find a sturdy enough structure with a working crapper) and we crack our knuckles, stretch our muscles… take a deep breath… and open the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

The reinforced door swung open into the bright summer morning. Birds were singing and the faint smell of nearby lilacs filled the air. The moans of nearby common infected punctuated the momentary reverie. Monster lifted his fire axe "Susanne" from his shoulder and sauntered forward. Immediately the stinking reek of the rank vapors emanating from the freakish zombie mutation commonly known as a "Smoker" filled our noses and Monster stepped back into the Safe room. Breathing in a lung full of untainted air, Monster grinned and said "I heard that Marlboro man wander up last night. I knew he would be waiting for us to come out." The rest of the group couldn't help but chuckle. Monster seemed to have some sort of 6th sense about where the special, mutated zombies would pop up next. He often just chalked it up to being in touch with the sound track of the universe.

We spilled out onto the street and used a special tool to lock the exit door of the safe house from the outside. The smoky stench from the decapitated smoker was still enough to make us cough. Part of their mutation changed their pores to emit a constant greenish vapor that made victims choke and burned their eyes, making it kind of hard to see. That wasn't the worst thing though, because their primary form of attack was the ability to expel a horrible tongue like tentacle from their mouth that would wrap around and immobilize a victim, dragging them away from safety and slowly constricting and crushing the life from them. "Smokers" were just one more of the freakish abominations the mutative virus had turned people into.

The team and I moved carefully down the street, our satellite images showed us the clearest path through the city when we left the ZFZ. Unfortunately those paths were often changed by wreckage from rampaging "tanks" and occasional underground gas line explosions and wandering zombie hoards. Sometimes small groups of well armed survivors will manage to blow the hell out of entire buildings and block access to alleys or buildings that were originally part of our predetermined pathway. So improvising and making snap decisions was all part of the job.

A roar from Lunchbox's shotgun snapped us all to focus in his direction. 4 more thundering rounds from Cowboys' Magnum were enough to tell everyone it was serious. "Here they come!" Bellowed Lunchbox as his street-sweeper shotgun roared to life 3 more times and the entire front line of an oncoming swarm of common infected fell, only to be trampled by those rushing in behind them. Monster jumped up on a big green dumpster and swung his axe "Susanne" low into the mob of zombies, severing outstretched arms and cleaving heads. His ferocious growl of "COME GET SOME AXE, BITCHES!" echoed out like a battle cry. Bullets and the clang of steel on bone filled the world for the next five minutes and the flood of zombies soon became little more than piles of stink on the ground. Cowboy was reloading his magnum and Lunchbox had just slid the last round of buckshot into his weapon when the ground started to shake noticeably. We all looked up and yelled "TANK!" at the same time.

Monster dropped off the dumpster and pulled a bright yellow ammo canister off his back. "Frag Rounds!" is all he could say before a horrible gorilla-like roar made everything else seem silent. Everyone grabbed the clip or rounds specially packed for their particular weapon and moved like clockwork to load up and ready themselves for the most dangerous freak this apocalypse had created so far.

I was the first one to make contact and I emptied the entire clip of explosive ammo downrange into the enormous nightmare that was running straight for us. The carnage done by my hail of bullets was not even affecting the raging hulk even slightly. Even Cowboy and Monster switched to their heavier weapons as Lunchbox rushed forward to spew explosive death into the face of the raging freak. "Eat this shit you big, freaky, pissed off California raisin!" He shrieked, distracting the "tank" long enough for the rest of us to reload. Monster rammed his single High Explosive shell into the grenade launcher he had swinging at his side, but seldom used. I yelled "Clear!" and Lunchbox dove and rolled away from the swinging arms of the tank and Monster fired his weapon, dead into its face. The explosion tore into its face and staggered it into the supports holding an elevated porch, collapsing it down on the tank.

"Molotov out!" I yelled as I lit and threw the makeshift weapon and the resulting fireball fed on the corpses all around us and grew into an epic conflagration. "Go go go!" I yelled to the team when I saw the seething mass of another hoard of common infected pour out of a 2nd floor window. I ripped "Bessie" the chainsaw off my back and charged into the dying flames of the Molotov to drive the chainsaw blade into the chest of the buried "Tank" before it could climb loose from the rubble. The hoard was almost on top of me as I stood; saw in hand, to hold the line for my team to escape when I heard the telltale sound of one of our custom pipe bombs beeping just down the street. A ragged shout burst from Monster… "Grenade!" I know how much power is packed into these pipe bombs, and I knew how many zombies were going to be within the blast range… It was going to be raining nasty in seconds.

Monster threw himself into the dumpster, Lunchbox and Cowboy dove through open doors and I… I was tossed through the air in a wave of blood, gore, slime and intestines. In my mind, I was inventing all sorts of new and amazing curse words. This was nothing short of a Genesis for profanity.


End file.
